


Another Day At The Office

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post 2.09, They Talk That's About It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: “So,” she says, closing the distance between them as she unties her apron, “Tell me about your day.”In his mind’s eye, he sees the thing—the woman—from the Gardner basement and shakes his head.  “Just another day in the office here in Purgatory,” he smirks.  “So, demon doll interrupt dinner with Doc?”  He doesn’t mean it to come out accusatory, really, he’d been going for cool, but her whole body tenses and her mouth twists.  She looks away for a moment before her eyes are back on his, unreadable.





	Another Day At The Office

When Dolls gets back to the homestead, it’s gone past one in the morning and he wonders before he pushes inside if he’s welcome.  Even after—there’s a sour thing in his gut, a tender ulcerative worry that he doesn’t really want to address but the small, doubtful voice in the back of his mind persists.  Doc isn’t inside when he does open the door.  The house smells like smoke and Wynonna’s sweeping up a wet, black mess in the middle of the kitchen.

“Hey,” she says quietly, stooping awkwardly to maneuver the broom and dustpan. 

“Interesting night?” he asks as neutrally as he can, eyeing the pot of yellow… _something_ on the table.

“Oh, the usual,” she answers as she knocks the mess into the garbage.  She turns to face him, smile soft and tired, “Got attacked by a demon doll who, apparently, crawled out of a painting… which then lit itself on fire.”  She pauses, tilts her head.  “I mean, it’s not the wildest Wednesday night I’ve ever had.”

He feels himself smiling against his will.  “Yeah, sounds pretty tame.”

“So,” she says, closing the distance between them as she unties her apron, “Tell me about your day.”

In his mind’s eye, he sees the thing—the woman—from the Gardner basement and shakes his head.  “Just another day in the office here in Purgatory,” he smirks.  “So, demon doll interrupt dinner with Doc?”  He doesn’t mean it to come out accusatory, really, he’d been going for cool, but her whole body tenses and her mouth twists.  She looks away for a moment before her eyes are back on his, unreadable. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” she says tersely.  “You know, I don’t have to explain—”

“You _don’t_ ,” he interrupts, swallowing his sudden flare of frustration.  “But _lying_ about it makes it seem a little hinky, doesn’t it?”

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t lying, I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all _weird_ about it.  I’m having a _kid_ with the guy, I’m gonna need to talk to him from time to time,” she counters with a scowl.  “And did you just say _hinky_?”

Rolling his eyes, he rubs the back of his neck.  “Yes, I did, and you definitely lied, and I feel like I’d be significantly less weird about it were that not the case.”

She takes a deep breath like she’s gearing up to absolutely tear into him, one finger pointed just short of his chest—but then all the fight seems to go out of her and she deflates a little and scrubs her face and demands, “What the hell are we doing?”  She continues before he can even respond, “I just spent, like, all evening arguing with Doc because of horror movie mojo.  I don’t wanna—I needed to talk to him about something, and I didn’t tell you because I never know if you two are gonna kill each other or, like, the bro-equivalent of making out, and I didn’t want it to be that first one.”  He thinks her shrug is meant to be nonchalant, but there’s something small and honest in her face that he doesn’t really wanna fight. 

At length, he clears his throat and winces, “Do you think the demon attacked you because you cooked that and it was offended?”

“Um, rude, my cooking is _great_ ,” she replies in spite of his dubious look.  “So, we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” he nods.  He knocks his shoulder against hers when he passes her to go to the fridge—he likes her, he does, but not enough to put himself through another one-pot surprise—but she grabs his elbow, and he stops.

“So, what about the—other thing, are we pretending that’s not a thing or…” she trails off awkwardly, eyes darting to the wall, his lips, his shoulder. 

He almost laughs right in her face but somehow manages to tamp down that urge.  “I mean, it wasn’t my _plan_ ,” he says.

“Oh, good, did you have a _plan?_   Because I did not have a plan, like, at all,” she laughs in a rush.  “Does your plan involve coming to bed and maybe kissing me some more?  Because, not gonna lie, that would be awesome.”

“Amazing, that’s _exactly_ what my plan involved,” he smiles, warmth in his chest as his fingers bury into her hair and his lips touch her temple, her forehead, and he feels the tension bleed out of her.  “Hey,” he murmurs, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide stuff, not from me.  Not ever.”

There’s a pause and her face is blank and distant for a moment and he thinks she may change the subject or crack a joke or _something_ but she just _looks_ at him before biting her lip and saying, “I’m—I’ll try.”  It shouldn’t be as heavy as it is—shouldn’t sound as _important_ as it does—but he feels the weight of those simple words like a physical thing even as she kisses the corner of his mouth.  “About that plan…”

“Wynonna, I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Well, there’s perfectly good dinner on the table I could reheat,” she offers, knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Hard pass,” he teases, bumping another kiss into her lips before pulling away.  She sniffs and mutters about slaving away over a hot stove, but her words are belied by her soft smile.  After he passes her, she sits at the table and starts poking at the gelatinous mess in the pot.  “You want a sandwich?”

“I want three sandwiches and a box of Twinkies,” she says frankly.

“I can make you two sandwiches and I think we have oatmeal crème pies.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a self-indulgent little ficlet to have these asshats talk about their feelings because A) That episode was seriously lacking in Wynonna/Dolls interaction (although what we did get was, um, pretty great) and B) Dolls' face made me sad, why does Andras do this to me?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I am constantly devastated by this show.


End file.
